


Peaches

by agesofaquarius



Category: Actor RPF, American (US) Actor RPF, The Walking Dead RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, Beards, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hollywood, Interns & Internships, Leather Jackets, Long-Distance Relationship, Motorcycles, Older Man/Younger Woman, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Inexperience, Slow Burn, Social Media, big trucks - Freeform, not at all ashamed that this is kind of a self-insert, plus size character, southern food
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-13 22:26:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14757449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agesofaquarius/pseuds/agesofaquarius
Summary: A sweet Georgia peach meets a dazzling Hollywood star.





	Peaches

“You have a lunch conference call startin’ at noon with the producers and casters on that new character. Kirkman will be here in ‘bout two hours. We’re set to shoot scenes 26 through 42 today. Norman and Andy are in make-up right now and Steven is on his way to pick up Lauren from Hartsfield.”

“Finally found a flight?”

“Yeah, should be landin’ in the next hour. Snowpocalypse has nuthin on hurricane season.”

“And the next two scripts?”

“Sittin’ in your trailer, awaiting your every change. Kirkman has his with him and from what I heard he’s got a few ideas.” 

“You’re a blessing in disguise, Savannah.”

“You’re just sayin’ that ‘cuz I’ve got your coffee in my hand.” 

The brunette smiled as she handed the steamy to-go cup, her chest feeling warm at the praise regardless of the fact that he _was_ just saying that because of the coffee. The black logo of SC &C standing out from the off-white cardboard of the cup. Greg sighed happily, sipping at the bittersweet concoction. He opened his eyes again, only to groan at the sight of the small brown paper bag dangling in front of his face.  

“A ‘Woodberry wake up’?” he questioned, knowing the answer just from the smell of the warm fluffy berry-croissant waiting for him.

“A ‘Woodberry wake up’, just for you.” She’d stopped at Senioa’s Coffee & Cafe on her way into town that morning, her daily order already fresh brewed as she walked in still half-asleep. She’d already handed out the other two coffees to Steven before he left and one of the camera guys, Mark. Her iced mocha was sucked down in two minutes flat with a very painful brain freeze. She could still feel the chill in her teeth when she ran her tongue over them.

“You’re too good to me.”

“Only ‘cuz you sign my paycheck, Greg-o.” She said with a chuckle and a wink, before tucking her clipboard under her arm again and walking off. The first week of her Internship-slask-Director’s (Personal) Assistant-slash-Glorified coffee girl job had been nerve-wrecking (considering this was _not_ what she spent four years of school to do) but the second and third week had gone by smoothly considering most filming had to be postponed due to the rainy summer season. But now, as week four rolled by and five came to its peak, filming was back on and the ground was finally dry again for them to continue on.

She was a glorified secretary and coffee-runner, but it was a foot in the door with the company and she was simply waiting for her chance to audition. On anything. For any role. She had a cousin that played a few zombies, he was the one to find the open position when the last assistant quit because of an unexpected pregnancy. Pregnant women and Georgia heat didn’t mix very well. (Neither did women her dress size and heat. Savannah was lucky to grow up in this heat and her blood warmed with it.)

But she would get her name in the credits one way or another.

_Looks like mama was right. Just a waste of time and student loans._

Savannah sighed as she stopped under one of the many white tents scattered around the set, pulling her clipboard up to fan herself when the smooth breeze that had been blowing suddenly stopped.

“Hey. Savannah.”

She quickly turned with a smile, familiar with the southern accent grabbing her attention. He said it was easier to keep in character on set when he spoke like the famous Rick Grimes instead of keeping it personal. She’d been giving him some pointers (‘You got a good accent, but it’s not a _Georgian_ accent.’) but he couldn’t change too much after seven seasons of the same phrasing.

“What’s up, Andy?”

His face was gritty with dirty makeup and the bags under his eyes looked heavy with blues and blacks.

“Greg around?”

“Was over on set when I saw him ‘bout five minutes ago.”

“Perfect. Thanks, love.”

Savannah gave him a parting two-finger salute and went back to fanning herself. The dew of the night-before had finally evaporated and left the air humid and muggy with heat. The gnats didn’t bother her, nor the buzzing of mosquitoes. It was a family joke that mosquitoes should be the State bird since there was so damn many. It was for that reason that, even in the heat of the day, Savannah was smart enough to wear a thin, long sleeve cotton shirt and a comfortable pair of old jeans tucked into her rancher boots.

They called her crazy, but the fabric kept her cooled off by keeping her sweat from evaporating, and she had only a few bug bites on her hands and neck compared to the many red bumps (and one tick bite on Chandler) that the others carried. They called her crazy, until they realized she’d grown up in this environment and knew how to live in it. Norman still refused to wear long sleeves or more jeans after having to walk around as Daryl all day, so he was usually seen in some old swim trunks when he wasn’t filming or at home.

Also because he and Andy tended to play pranks that included ice and soggy dry-cat food in water balloons. Savannah stayed clear of those two as much as she could when they got in a mood.

“Can you point me toward the make-up trailer, darlin’?”

She looked up, thinking it to be a late extra, before the clipboard in her hand paused and she found herself looking up into dark brown eyes that peeked down at her from behind a pair of dark sunglasses.

“I can do ya one better, Mr. Morgan.” Savannah jumped from her seat a bit more excited than she should have and tucked the clipboard underneath her arm again. “Follow me, please, sir.”

He gave a short, loud laugh. “Please, Jeff is just fine. I already feel old as fuck.” She nodded, accepting the request. “You’re Greg’s new gal?”

She felt a vein throb in her head at the term. “Yessir, I am. Savannah, but feel free to call me any variation of a nickname that you can think of.” He gave her the dazzling grin he was known for as he slipped off his sunglasses, his dark cap crooked on top of his dark hair. She forgot all about the slip of a lip. 

“Didn’t know the last girl too well, since I was only here for the finale last season and very intro for this season. How are the fellas treating you?” 

“Better than my last job.” She answered truthfully, leading him between tents and trailers towards make-up. Any job was better than answering phones all day and listening to the boomer generation whine about electronics. “Been a slow month for filming, but should be pickin’ up now that the rain’s passed. For the most part.”

There was a pause between them. Savannah raised her clipboard up to shield the sun as it broke through the clouds.

“That is some accent you’ve got, girl.”

Her chest started to heat up again, a blush making her neck itch.

“Born ‘n raised just a few hours south of here. An authentic southern belle.”

“A little Georgia peach.”

The blush reached her ears, and she let her short hair loose from behind her ears to hide it, just as she walked up to the correct trailer and opened the door for him. A blast of cold air rushed out to hit her in the face. Norman looked up from his phone while his hair was being tousled by the stylist with a can of hairspray in his hand.

“Jeff!” he dropped his phone on the counter in front of him and stood up much to the stylist’s annoyance. 

“Nor, what’s up, brother?” 

The two met halfway, pulling each other into a deep hug with hands slapping each other’s backs. Typical manly hug, but the friendship was obvious by the smile on their faces.

“Okay, Reedus, get outta here,” the stylist said, popping a bubble in his gum before wiping out the chair and readying it for the newcomer. 

“I’ll see you on set, asshole. I’ll be the one with the crossbow ready to kick your ass.” 

“Couldn’t miss you if I wanted, fucker.” 

The two chortled and pushed at each other before Jeff took over the chair and Norman slung an arm around Savannah’s shoulders. “C’mon, Van. I need a buddy to make sure I make it to costumes. See ya, Jeff.”

“See ya, hick. See ya, Peaches.” 

She glanced back for a second, a grin pulling at her lips when she tried to cover it with a scowl. _Peaches_. Of course that would be the nickname he chose. Just her luck. If she hadn’t heard of the joking nature of the actor, she would have felt slightly insulted.

“I’ll see ya on set, Mr. Morgan,” she said, giving him a nod and then slung her own arm over Norman’s shoulders, the two awkwardly walking across the small space between trailers to the costumes considering there was only a slight height difference.

“ _Mr. Morgan_ ,” Norman teased her, his voice raised far higher than her own with the twang of her Georgia drawl.

“What? I called you ‘Mr. Reedus’ when I first met you.”

“Yeah, and I shut that shit down in three seconds flat. And I know he did the same.”

“As long as he calls me ‘Peaches’, I’m gonna make sure he feels just how old he thinks he is.”

“You’re mean, ‘Vannah.” 

“The meanest. Now get in there and get dressed.” She gave him a friendly football-butt slap in front of the costume trailer and walked back to set. She took the small fold-out chair behind Greg’s director’s chair and pulled out the heavily cased cellphone to input the secret 10-character code that only three people on set knew.

Clicking the brightly-colored app, Savannah opened the camera and raised the phone up to get a good view of the cameras in front of them. A sneak peak of the set for the day.

 

**Can someone turn off the sun?** #ImMelting #TWDS7

 

She added a few emojis as she saw fit and then submitted the picture to upload for the instagram account before sharing the picture across the rest of the social media. This was probably her favorite part of the Intern-PA-Coffee girl job: controlling what the public saw and replying to comments as she saw fit. There was usually some pretty funny comments, and she always made sure to screenshot them to send to the guys.

Savannah locked the phone and slipped it back into her jean pocket, pulling out her own phone as she waited for Greg and Andy to finish their conversation some feet behind her.

“‘Vannah!”

She looked up after losing another game of Candy Crush and waved back as Steven and Lauren jumped out of the company car.

Greg pulled away from Andy, the walls of Alexandria towering over them. “Good, you’re back! Lauren, I need you in make-up asap. Steven, go get fitted, but Kirkman wants to talk to you when he gets in.”

The set suddenly came alive again as everyone moved where they were needed - Andy close by with the freshly trimmed Mr. Morgan not far behind him in the shade of some trees. He was shrugging on a worn black leather jacket and she couldn’t help but watch, completely enthralled with the scene playing out before her. 

They were antagonizing each other, Savannah could see it from that far away. They were saving the cliff-hanger pick up for the next night, only just passing out scripts for the new season earlier that week, but the group read-through had been a long and hard meeting. She would miss Steven being on set, since they had fallen into the weekly routine of a breakfast run every Monday for the crew. He was a delight to have during the boring drive to Griffin.

In fact, she’d grown fairly close to most of the cast during her weeks, running around doing Greg’s grunt work. But she was learning things, both from the directing standpoint and from the actor’s perspective. 

While the job was a load of bullshit, it wasn’t completely worthless.

“Oh look, I figured out how to turn off the sun!” 

It was too late for Savannah to shout before a bucket of water was dumped over her head, the bucket left to hang over her head and cover up the sun. She flung herself from the canvas chair and quickly ducked to throw it off, her chin-length hair stringy and her shirt soaked down through her light colored shirt to the sports bra she’d tugged on that morning. The liquid dripped down her back making goosebumps rise on her skin and shiver.

“Fuck you, Reedus!” she shouted, knowing better than to drop her guard around him or Andy, but she figured he would be in costumes for a bit longer. 

When she turned to find him, he was only half dressed in the classic Daryl look, but there was more fake blood on him this time. 

She quickly checked her phone and the company one, happy that both had received no water damage, and dropped them in the chair beside her to keep them from getting wet. Savannah sighed and picked the bucket up to throw it toward Norman, who dodged lithely and laughed loudly. She sat back in the wet chair, cringing at the squish of her jeans meeting the puddle in the bottom of the chair. Savannah pushed hair from her face, ringing out the little bits she could take handfuls of, and slumped down. 

Greg did his best to hide his smirk and simply shook his head at them both, taking over his chair as Andy walked into the scene. 

Two rough hands took her shoulders and shook her gently, thumbs pressing into the top of her spine. 

“You’re a good sport, Van.” 

Savannah waved away the prankster and he skipped around her to take his spot beside Andy, Chandler walking up with Melissa and one of the other assistants. 

“Koral!” Norman shouted, exaggerating the beginning of the character’s name to match the strange mash of British and Southern accents that Andy had turned into the boy’s name. The two children-at-heart knocked their heads together, talking to one another quietly and looking in Savannah’s direction. She narrowed her eyes and quickly flipped them both off. 

A deep chuckle echoed from her side and she had to swallow before looking at Jeff. “He’s a little fucker, ain’t he?” he asked, and Savannah couldn’t help the scowl. 

“He better be lucky they locked up the props or I’d be borrowin’ Lucille for a bit. And I don’t mean the stunt one.” 

She gathered pieces of her hair in each hand and squeezed more water before brushing her bangs away from her face. There was the beginnings of an idea to just take off her shirt there and sit around in her sports bra, but the thought of them seeing her stomach quickly killed it. She would deal with a soaked shirt and jeans for a few hours. The sun should dry her out in no time.

“We’ll get him back.”

Savannah looked over at him, eyebrow arching up. “We?”

Jeff grinned, pulling a cigarette from a pack he had tucked inside his jacket. He offered her one, but she shook her head. “Those are bad for you, ya know.” 

“So is alcohol but you don’t see me getting any younger,” Jeff quipped. 

She rolled her eyes, but there was something incredibly hypnotizing about watching him flick open the zippo lighter and light the tip of the cigarette. It cherried, a bright orange as he sucked in and then flipped the cap of the lighter back. The lighter slid back in with the carton.

“What’s this we?” she asked again, and his grin never faded.

“I know a thing or two about ol’ Normskie there. I also know where he keeps the spare key to his house.” 

The grin that spread over her face as she looked up at him matched his own shit-eating one. _Things are about to get interesting around here._  

“I believe this is the beginnin’ of a beautiful friendship, Mr. Morgan.”

“Damn straight, Peaches.”


End file.
